


Your Honey-Sweet Soul

by Slinky (Golbez)



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Bittersweet, Crying, Future Fic, Gen, POV Asriel, POV Flowey, POV Second Person, Post-Pacifist Route, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, Years in the future, everyone crying, insomnia fueled writing, potted Flowey + Frisk wanting to save Asriel + logical conclusion, the author is crying too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-29
Updated: 2015-10-29
Packaged: 2018-04-28 19:36:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5103158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Golbez/pseuds/Slinky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An elderly Frisk has one thing left to do in their life: give their soul to Flowey the Flower.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Honey-Sweet Soul

**Author's Note:**

> Suffer with me.

You aren't welcome here.

And judging by the expressions you're getting from all around the room, everyone else thinks so too. You already know what Sans thinks, and even with him carrying your pot you don't need to turn to him to know he's grimacing. There's Toriel, standing by the bed, and Asgore, on the other side, both their expressions heavily controlled as they simultaneously turn away at the sight of you. There's Undyne standing beside Alphys in one corner of the room, her lips drawn back into a sneer while Alphys nervously looks between you and her feet. Papyrus is very obviously torn between bounding toward you and staying in his seat.

But Frisk, sitting in the bed in the middle of the room, is beaming in your direction.

You don't know how they manage to do that. Their eyesight just gave up one morning a few years ago, and since then there had always been a monster at their side to help them around. Sometimes you served as their eyes. Well okay, most of the time that was your job.

You keep your gaze on that smile when Sans carries you closer. It's been a few days since you last saw Frisk, when they were whisked away in a white car that screamed into the sky as it took them away, and they don't look like they're doing much better than then. If anything, they look worse, their wrinkled face looking more gaunt than you've ever seen it, but somehow the smile overshadows that, and that smile is so big it's like they haven't aged a single day since you first saw them in the Ruins.

Sans sets you down on the bed. Frisk reaches out, and you feel fingers gently touching your petals.

"Howdy Flowey," they say, and their voice is far softer than it should be.

You huff, and feel six pairs of eyes on you. Frisk is the only one who trusts you here. It's been that way for years. Even with the amount of time you spent around the rest, it had never quite been enough. Monsters live long, long lives, and even with how easily they forgive each other, the sort of things you did and said left a lasting impression on their very souls. You are the only one they couldn't really forgive.

Though maybe your constant state of irritation and caustic words toward them had a hand in that. It's always been easier to just spew words of hate than to deal with sympathy you can't understand.

"Howdy Frisk," you reply. Their hands move down, feeling for the pot, then they pull you closer toward them. The mood in the room drops further, and you sense Toriel, the closest to you right now, tense up when Frisk just pulls your pot to their side.

What does she think you're going do in a room full of the strongest monsters in the world? Throw bullets at the sick human and let them tear you apart? As if.

Frisk strokes the back of your head. You relax into it. They always knew how to calm you. When you screamed curses and flung bullets around them as they dug you out of the ground, they went 'hmmm' at you and started telling you snail facts. When you begged and cried to be returned to the Underground, they showed you the sun.

When you confessed that you were still empty, that you were jealous of how happy everyone else was with each other, they hugged your pot all night and cried on you until you felt kind of guilty for even saying so in the first place. Then they took you out the next day and tried to show you all kinds of fun things to do. As if just that would be enough to help you understand why they were so kind, why everyone else was so kind to each other.

It hadn't been enough to help you understand, but you did have fun. That was pretty nice.

And here they are now, humming softly as they brush their fingers against your petals.

"Frisk," you start, but you don't know what else to say. They take this as a sign that you're ready to converse though, and start talking instead.

"Do you remember what I promised when I took you out of the Underground?"

You freeze. The memory, so distant, so long ago now, digs itself up in your mind. You remember their promise, definitely. It was what you clung to at first in the hell that was the early days of the surface when you didn't know how to have fun anymore and you hated everything a lot more strongly than you do now.

Slowly, you say, "Your soul."

Frisk nods. "Yes."

The room around you becomes awash with noise. Protests from Toriel, disbelief from Undyne and Alphys and Papyrus. Only Asgore and Sans remain silent.

"We don't know if that's still going to work," you tell Frisk while everyone else attempts to quiet down again.

"It has to," says Frisk, clearly ignoring the reactions around them, "It _has_ to. I've kept it strong all this time, just for you. Knowing that I would one day give it to you filled me with determination."

You shudder at that word.

"I don't know if I want it anymore," you say. It quiets down.

Frisk doesn't say anything, only raising their hands to their chest. There's that familiar red glow forming under their cupped hands, and immediately you feel the _need_ to take it, to tear their soul from them. You'd learned long ago that this had been the reason for your existence, to carry the souls of monsters and humans alike, and the mere sight of that _wonderful, beautiful, glow_ made you crave it.

You were designed to be empty. You were designed to need to take. Your greed must have shown on your face, because for a moment Frisk's hands waver. Then their determination pulls through and keeps them going, and then the next thing you know, their soul is right there. The red heart pulses as it hovers before you, just as it once did when you first met, and you can feel that Frisk wasn't lying. It's as strong as ever. Maybe even stronger than any soul in the world. It might just be enough.

"I've said my goodbyes," comes Frisk's voice through the glow, and you wonder for a moment why no one is reacting, why no one is trying to stop you, then Frisk holds their soul out to you, bringing it closer and closer to your face. "I don't have anything to worry about anymore. My soul's yours now, Asriel."

You don't know what else to do but pull their soul into yourself.

A beeping you hadn't noticed before stops and turns into a single, low note. Frisk's hands fall to their side. There's a flurry of activity around you, but you barely see or hear any of it, because you're too busy being overwhelmed by the sheer amount of love filling you.

It flows through you, unfurling itself and stretching out into your petals, reaching the edges and turning back in. It slithers down your stem to your roots and it swirls and swirls and you feel like you're going to burst from it, because you're just a flower, you can't feel these things, but there they are, and you understand again.

You understand.

You _understand_.

You lower your head against Frisk's still hand and start to cry.

Through the wetness of your eyes, you suddenly realize that your vision of Frisk is getting further and further away. Someone has picked you up. Someone's carrying you away. Then they turn, and you can't see Frisk anymore.

"No," you say, but they don't stop. You see the door in front of you, see nurses hurrying in.

"Put me back!" you shout, but what do they care? You are only a flower whom no one likes. You are only a nuisance.

You feel like you'll never see Frisk again if you let them take you away.

The thought fills you with - 

" _LET ME GO!_ " you scream as loud as you can, and you just -

\- leap out of the hands of whoever's carrying you and you land on the floor like the clumsy fool you are and you scurry past them and through the door on all fours, hands and feet scrambling against the smooth floor as you rush right back into the room. Vaguely you register gasping and shouting, but you don't care, because Frisk is right there and you stand and stare for just a moment at how peaceful they look before you scale the bed and just collapse onto them. And you cry. You cry like the crybaby you are and matte your own fur as you sob against their chest. You curl in on yourself and cling to them.

" _You idiot,_ " you tell them. Their lifeless body does not respond. The soul inside you agrees, and you shove at it within you, trying to push it back into its own body. It's not too late, it _isn't_ too late. Go home, Frisk.

Go home.

It refuses.

You don't know for how much longer you cry, but you suddenly find yourself incredibly tired. You think it's all the years catching up to you. You think it might be Frisk willing you to rest.

You cry a little more, and then drift off to sleep.

When you come to, it is to the scent of butterscotch.

You sit up. Your throat is dry, your eyes are sore. You reach up and rub them, then stop and stare at your hands. You curl your fingers tight for a moment, then uncurl them.

You can feel Frisk within you, at the edges of yourself. This doesn't feel right, but at the same time, it's _so nice_ to feel again.

Someone nearby clears their throat, breaking through your thoughts. You look up, and find Alphys sitting nearby. You look around, let your eyes take in everything slowly. It's Toriel's house, and you're lying on her couch.

You stare at Alphys. She fidgets, then somehow finds her voice.

"Flowey," she starts, then changes her mind and says, "A-Asriel."

"...yeah," you say, and your voice is horrible.

She winces, and slides a cup of whatever over to you on the coffee table between you. You take the cup and gratefully sip it, and really you don't care what it is, it's just nice to be able to taste things again.

"I-I," begins Alphys, and you could have sworn she'd gotten over that years ago, but no, here's her stutter again in full force. You guess having to face your mistakes again decades later would do that to a person.

You have an idea what she wants though. A long time ago when she'd explained everything to you, when you told her whom you were, she'd apologized, over and over and over. You were a flower. You hadn't known what to say. You'd said nothing.

"I forgive you," you say now.

Her eyes widen, and she's clearly taken aback by this. Maybe she expected you to never forgive her, because you're certain she still doesn't forgive herself. You understand. You don't really forgive yourself for the things you did.

You take a moment to place the cup back down, before lowering your feet to the carpeted floor while Alphys is still in shock. The fabric tickles your paw pads, and you curl your toes against it before completely touching your foot down against the floor. You spread your toes a little and feel threads between them, against your fur, against your skin.

You scamper toward the kitchen before Alphys can react.

You find Toriel there. She must have heard your steps, you're certain of it, because she could always tell when you snuck into the kitchen so long ago, but she doesn't turn around right now. She just keeps at whatever task she's busy with.

You inhale sharply.

"Mom."

You see her shoulders tense at your voice, before they start to shake. She's crying, and you remember, vaguely, the way she'd cried the first time you showed yourself to her as a flower. The way she'd held you and how you'd tried so hard at the time to feel the love she had surely been pouring toward you.

That was timelines ago. The Toriel from then is long gone. The one before you is crying, and slowly, slowly, working up the courage to turn towards you.

This is why you didn't want them to see you. This is why you'd begged Frisk not to take you out of the Underground.

Her arms are around you before you even realize, and she smells like butterscotch and warmth, and she feels like home. Her tears wet your fur and she holds you close, presses you to herself. Her hold is as gentle as you remember, and you wonder suddenly if she ever pretended the other kids were you.

You don't want to know the answer to that, and you don't want to think about it at all, so you just reach around her and hold on tight.

It's just like with Frisk. You want to stay like this forever.

You hear the front door open and slam shut. A multitude of voices waft into the kitchen, and then Toriel is releasing you and straightening herself, wiping at her eyes with her hands. She looks down at you, and you see her lips form a smile, but it's certainly one that doesn't reach her eyes.

"The pie can wait," she says, and you feel her hand on your shoulder, real and warm, and she steers you back into the living room.

Conversation immediately dies down.

Toriel's grip on your shoulder tightens. Papyrus, carrying a bag of groceries, is gazing at you with curiosity, and you think there's a touch of confusion there that kind of makes you feel bad about all the lies you've told him. Sans is sitting beside him on an armchair, pointedly looking away from you and you don't think he'll ever forgive you. Alphys is still sitting where you left her, giving you a weak smile and you're glad you could give her a bit of peace of mind. Undyne is beside her of course, arms crossed, eyes narrowed and biting her lip, like she doesn't know what to make of you and frankly you don't know what to make of her either. Asgore is sitting on the couch you'd vacated, back turned to you. He doesn't turn to look at you. You wish he would. 

You suddenly don't know if you're welcome here.

But then Frisk pulses within you and you hear them hum. Your father turns to look at you and there's nothing but unbridled joy on his face. The gazes on you intensify, and suddenly you realize that you're humming aloud, following along with the gentle melody that Frisk gives you.

You stop, lower your gaze. It's been so many years. This isn't the time to be shy.

You look around at everyone, then raise your hand and give them all a small smile and a small wave.

"Howdy," you say, "I'm Asriel. Guess I've got a lot of explaining to do, huh?"

**Author's Note:**

> This was actually going to have a really depressing ending but then I reached a pretty nice cut off point so I decided I didn't feel like trying to write Flowey willing himself into nonexistence from his own POV today (well, for now). Have an open ending instead.


End file.
